


Follow My Voice

by SallyLovette



Series: Things We Leave Behind [2]
Category: Toy Story (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-04-11 13:42:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19110835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SallyLovette/pseuds/SallyLovette
Summary: When Bonnie leaves for college, the toys once again face an uncertain future.As of 10/26/19 this work is no longer being updated.





	1. Chapter 1

Jessie is anxious about the move. Buzz does what he can to comfort her, but he hasn’t seen her smile in quite some time. She and Bull’s-Eye are a constant presence at his side, trailing him in all his duties and obligations (which have tripled in the days since Bonnie left for college), quiet and apprehensive. Nothing he says seems to help; they remain troubled.

Woody isn’t doing much better. Buzz has never seen him this stressed out, which is really saying something. He seems to have completely bypassed all his typical symptoms of strain (anger, shouting, dry-wit humor, the occasional self-deprecating remark) for other, subtler indications of stress. He keeps mislaying items— schedules, crayons, batteries— and neglecting important tasks that need doing. More than once, he’s repeated himself during their daily staff meetings. He informed them that “safety-scissors are now strictly off-limits to unauthorized personnel” several times, his eyes flicking unseeingly over his notes. When this was pointed out to him, he frowned and murmured, “oh, right,” with a look of such confusion that laughter was, for the most part, curtailed. Mr. Potato Head made only about ten jokes at his expense, a record low. Overall, the afternoon was conclusively unproductive. Buzz later recommended that Woody postpone all staff meetings until further notice.

“You’re clearly overworked,” he said.

“Mom will be moving us to Sunnyside any day now,” Woody said, as if Buzz wasn’t fully aware. “There’s so much to do, I don’t know how we’ll manage.” His hickory-brown hair was unadorned, a bad sign.

“Where’s your hat?” 

“Around here somewhere." 

“When’s the last time you got some rest?”

Woody avoided the question, or perhaps he simply hadn’t been listening. “Where’s Jessie?” he asked. “Can you check on her?”

“She’s fine. Why don’t you sit down for a little while?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve got work to do.” Woody waved a hand, as if shooing a bothersome fly. Buzz wished, not for the first time, that his best friend wasn’t so stubborn, but he knew better than to try to change his mind. Experience had taught him as much.

“Okay, then. If you’re sure.” He gave his back a sympathetic pat, one he hoped said, “I’m close by if you need me.” Woody showed no signs of acknowledgement. He'd already gone back to his checklist.

Jessie was at the window, staring up at the sky. Bull’s-Eye nuzzled Buzz’s hand when he petted him (it wasn’t until he met Bull’s-Eye that Buzz realized horses liked to be petted, behind the ears especially) and offered him a boost. Jessie must have heard him coming, but she didn’t turn around.

“Let me guess,” she said. “The sheriff sent you to check on me.”

“No,” Buzz fibbed. “He wanted me to leave him alone. I think his exact words were ‘buzz off.’”

She didn’t laugh. “I know I should be happy. We're finally goin' to be played with again. I just..." She faltered. "I don't know. I can't shake this funny feelin’ I got." She looked at him, her pretty eyes wide (Buzz's heart skipped a beat). "D'you think there’s somethin’ wrong with me?"

"It's okay to be scared," Buzz offered. Jessie looked away and sighed, as if that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. Buzz tried again. “Whatever happens, I’ll always be there for you. You know that, right?”

She moved closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her, but otherwise kept perfectly still. Thirteen years, and he still hasn't gotten used to this— being close to her, being her (he blushes and wishes he hadn't) boyfriend. Sometimes he still caught himself staring at her, trying to work up the nerve to kiss her. After pining for so long, it's hard to remember they’re together now.

"It'll all work out," he said. "I promise."

Days go by, then weeks, and Mom doesn't come get them. Eventually, Woody runs out of work to do. He goes back to his old self, singing songs and playing fetch with Slinky and Bull's-Eye, admiring himself in the mirror amd reading aloud from _Alice in Wonderland_ and _The Grapes of Wrath_. (Since Bonnie doesn't have any siblings, she wasn't made to clean her room out, the way Andy was. Most of her belongings are still here, from her books to her desk to her flowery quilt.) Buzz is relieved. Even better, Jessie, as if what had been keeping her down this whole time was her brother's enervation, starts to smile again. She and Woody perform a duet. Everyone claps. Buzz feels a peace of mind he hasn't felt in a while.

It was never explicitly stated that Sunnyside was where they would end up after Bonnie left for college. It was simply what they had all assumed. Bonnie’s mother worked there, after all, and as Andy's mother said all those years ago (Buzz feels, suddenly, tremendously old— he thinks about the way that, when the air is damp, his joints sing with pain, and how one of his wings doesn't open all the way unless he punches the red button with all of his strength, and how his once crystal-clear voice recordings are now as scratchy and tinny as Woody's had been the day they met), the daycare is always looking for donations. A number of their friends were already there: Barbie and Ken, Combat Carl, Sergeant and his men, Trixie and Rex, Buttercup and Pricklepants, the LGMs... the list goes on. Buzz is grateful every day (well, perhaps not every day, but he tries to remember to be, when he can) that he and Woody and Jessie haven't been separated yet, owing, no doubt, to their superior quality. Kids like them. They always have. They're not just any sort of toys— they're special. Wanted. Difficult to replace. Not like... others.

Buzz feels a twinge of guilt. How could he think such thoughts? He changes the topic in his mind. He'd been meaning to work up the nerve to ask Woody to read _Pride and Prejudice,_ one of his favorites. No one knows Buzz likes that book, not even Jessie. 

He gives the room a once-over. Woody is nowhere to be seen. That's not unusual in itself. He likes to be alone sometimes. But when Buzz checks all of his usual brooding spots and comes up empty-handed, he starts to get worried. Where is he this time? 

"Hey, Buzz."

It's Slinky. "Hi, Slink," Buzz greets him, smiling. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm just fine," Slink reassures him, then falters, looking at his paws. "I'm worried about Woody."

Buzz feels the urge to laugh. "I know what that's like."

Slink looks at him again. "I got somethin' to show you, if you have the time."

"Sure. What is it?"

Slink starts to respond, but just then, Jessie shouts, "mom's coming!" Buzz feels the customary wave of panic, followed by the urge to go still. He, along with everyone around him, fights off the urge just long enough to get into their places. When Mom opens the door, everyone is exactly where she'd last seen them, and completely motionless. 

"Of course I do, sweetie," she was saying into the phone. "You used to take her with you everywhere, remember?" In her hands is a sizable cardboard shipping box. She sets it down on the bed, takes Jessie down from the bookshelf, and puts her inside. "I remember we used to have to wait until you were asleep to get her away from you long enough to wash her." She goes to the dresser and opens the sock drawer. "What about socks...? Are you sure? Bonnibel Andersen, you know as well as I that you never pack enough socks." She closes the drawer and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. Buzz hears her say something about laundry detergent. Then her voice fades away.

The toys gather around the bed, staring up at the box. No one says anything. Buzz is the first one to hoist himself up, registering briefly as he does so that Woody is still nowhere to be found, but that's not important right now. 

"Jessie?"

No response. He looks in the box, his heart beating fast, as if he's afraid of what he'll find. The truth is somewhat anticlimactic: candy, all sorts of candy, and chips and cookies, and a card with flowers on it, which Jessie has propped open before her. "Dear Bonnibel," she reads aloud. "It's hard to believe time has gone by so quickly."

"Jess—"

"We love you and miss you every day, but we know you're off doing great things. Thank you for being our wonderful daughter. Love, mom and dad."

"Jess..."

"It's a care package, Buzz."

"I'll go with you."

"You can't." Jessie finally looks at him. "Where's Woody?" As if that's what's amiss here. Buzz flat-out ignores the question. 

"You can't go," he says. "We're supposed to stay together."

She shrugs, closing the card and setting it down. "There's nothin' we can do about it." She seems oddly calm, and suddenly, Buzz realizes why. She'd been terrified, all this time, that something was going to go wrong, and now that it has, it's almost a relief. 

Buzz looks over his shoulder, wondering how much time he has before Mom comes back. He jumps into the box.

"This isn't goodbye," he says. "I'll see you again. I promise."

"Buzz—"

"Look at me," he says, and she does. "I promise."

"Okay," she says, and then she throws her arms around him. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

By now, the other toys have climbed onto the bed. "What's happening?" Mr. Potato Head asks.

"Jessie's going to college," Buzz answers around the lump in his throat. He and Jessie break apart, but Jessie clings to his hand. "Where's Woody?" she asks, her eyes large with distress. "I want to say goodbye to him."

Buzz snaps into duty mode. "Everyone, look for Woody," he commands. "Search the whole room. I'm going to check the roof."

"Hurry, Buzz!" Dolly yells as he leaps off the comforter and sprints for the door. "Mom's gonna be back any minute!"

In order to access the roof, one has to exit through the window of the upper-level bathroom, three doors down from Bonnie's bedroom. Buzz is halfway there before he stops dead. He doesn't know why; he just does. Turning his head, he sees he's across from the closet, which is slightly ajar. He pokes his head inside. Hesitates.

"Woody?"

No response. Feeling foolish, he hoists himself onto the lowest shelf. Nestled in the corner, partially covered by a fluffy white hand towel, is Woody. Only his boots, hat, and part of his yellow shirt are showing. Buzz is flabbergasted. 

"What are you doing?" It looks like he's hiding. "Are you crying?"

"No," Woody says, and Buzz can see that he isn't. He comes closer and reaches out his hand.

"We need you," he says. "There's an emergency."

"It's going to get me."

"What?"

"It's going to get me."

Buzz is starting to grow annoyed. "What's going to get you?" When Woody doesn't respond, he seizes his arm. "Sheriff, we don't have time for this."

Woody wrenches his arm away. "Let go!"

Speechless, Buzz lets him go just as Bonnie's mother comes back. She goes into Bonnie's room and comes back out with the box. Buzz watches through the crack between the door and the wall as she carries the box— and Jessie— downstairs. He throws the door open and runs the the edge of the balcony just in time to watch them go out the front door.

Forgetting Woody completely, Buzz runs to the bathroom, climbs out of the window and onto the roof. He grazes both knees and both palms scrambling to the top, and he gets there just in time to watch the car pull away.

When Woody was going off to college, everyone was happy. It was more than any of them could have hoped for. But this is different. This is bad. There's a sickening pain in Buzz's chest, like he's being stabbed. He's never going to see Jessie again, not ever.

He tells himself he's being irrational, but somehow, he knows he's not. 

A cloud passes over the sun, throwing the house into shadow; a cold wind causes Buzz to shiver, but he stays on the roof for a long time, too distraught to move.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes a while to get Woody out of the closet. Buzz thinks it may have been easier if his heart was actually in it, but the whole time he was pulling Woody by the ankle, forcefully dragging him down from the shelf even as he protested ("stop! Buzz, stop! Let me go!"), he was thinking about Jessie, and about the horrible feeling he had that he was never going to see her again. He couldn't concentrate, which was why he didn't notice that he was handling his friend a little too roughly until the sound of tearing fabric snapped him back to reality. He let go, and Woody fell to the floor. His knee was badly torn, the stuffing poking out. Buzz stared dazedly at it. For a moment, they were both silent.

"I'm sorry," Buzz said, but the words were numb in his mouth.

"You broke me," Woody said, quietly, shocked. His hands were wrapped around his leg, which, in addition to being torn, was twisted at an almost comical angle.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you okay?"

Buzz felt like laughing, but instead he heard his voice crack. "You're the one who's broken."

"What happened?"

"Jessie's gone."

Woody's eyes widened. "What?"

"She's gone. Mom sent her to college."

" _What?_ Why didn't you tell me? Here, help me up."

Buzz took Woody's hand, pulling him— carefully— to his feet. "I tried! What were you doing in the closet?"

“Hiding,” Woody said, without missing a beat. He leaned on Buzz’s shoulders. “Take me to Bonnie’s room.”

“Hiding from what?” They made their way, slowly, to the bedroom. Everyone was at the threshold, waiting for them.

“Woody, where were you?” Dolly demanded, then, her eyes widening, “what happened to your knee?”

“Accident,” Woody explained shortly. “Where’s Jessie? Jessie!” He called her name into the room, as if he seriously expected her to answer. Buzz felt a twinge of irritation.

“I told you,” he said, “she’s gone.”

“But she can’t be gone.”

“Sit down.” Buzz dropped Woody onto a dictionary. “I’m gonna get the sewing kit.”

“Buzz, why didn’t you tell me she was leaving? I didn’t even get to say good-bye.”

“No one could find you,” Buzz said, and was about to say something more when Slinky interrupted.

“Buzz,” he said, “remember that thing I wanted to talk to you about?”

“Not now, Slink. I’ll be back.”

“This is the second time you’ve ripped me, you know,” Woody calls after him, pettily, as he walks away. Buzz has to resist the urge to retort. Woody is truly insufferable sometimes.

Whatever. He has other things on his mind.

 

*

 

The sewing kit is in Bonnie’s parents’s room, in the lowest dresser drawer. Buzz climbs onto the bed and takes a running leap, landing with a practiced, elegant roll on the dresser. As he’s standing and dusting himself off, someone says, “I’m impressed.” 

Buzz looks up. She’s a vision, slender and pale, her porcelain skirts billowing around her. A dove perches on her shoulder. She plucks her harp idly as Buzz smiles and says, “impressed about what?” 

“What are you pushing? Fifty? Sixty? And you can still perform stunts like that.” 

“Don’t be jealous, Mar.” Marian didn’t have legs, couldn’t stand or leave her podium. She could admire Buzz’s talent for stunts, but she could never dream of replicating them. She also couldn’t visit Bonnie’s room, not ever, affixed as she was in her place, which was why their interactions were limited to whenever Buzz came to her. 

“You haven’t visited me in ages,” she said, tilting her chin, pouting attractively. Buzz felt his heartbeat speed up. 

“Things’ve been hectic lately,” he said, turning his back to her, walking to the edge of the dresser and gazing down at the floor with his hands on his hips. “I couldn’t get away.” 

“I’ll miss you when you’re gone. Still no clue as to when it’s happening?” She waits, then, when he doesn’t answer, frowns worriedly. “What’s wrong?” 

“Something happened.” 

“What is it? Come here. I can’t see your face. Is it Woody? He’s not working too hard, is he?” Marian had only met Woody once or twice, very briefly (Jessie, she had met not at all), and knew about him mostly through stories Buzz told her. Like anyone who knew Woody even the slightest bit, she was extremely fond of him. “You’ll give him my best regards, won’t you?” 

“No, Woody’s alright,” Buzz says, then hesitates, remembering what he’d done— the ugly tear, the white cotton spilling out. “Well,” he mutters, going back to her, “for the most part.”

“Then what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.” 

“Jessie’s gone.” 

Marian’s blue eyes widen. “Oh, my.” 

“There was nothing I could do.” Try as he might, he can’t keep the sorrow out of his voice. “I’ll probably never see her again.” 

There’s a silence. “I’m so sorry,” Marian says softly. “I know how much she meant to you.” 

Buzz feels his heart wrenching and clears his throat, quickly changing the subject— he doesn’t want to break down in front of her. “I actually came here to get the sewing kit. There was an accident of sorts.” 

“So you can’t stay?” Her face turns dark, and she sighs and looks away. “You never make time for me these days.” 

“I’ll be back later. Tonight.” 

“Don’t do any extravagant flips on your way out of here. I know you do them just to amuse me, but I don’t want you hurting your knees.” 

“Are you calling me a show-off?” He tries to joke, but she doesn’t laugh. 

“I know you, Buzz,” she says. “You’ll blame yourself for this. It wasn’t your fault, alright?”

Another long silence. “I have to go,” Buzz murmurs lamely. 

“Very well,” she says. “Good-bye.”

 

*

 

Slinky had pushed the checkerboard over to where Woody was sitting so that they could play while they waited for Buzz. Everyone seemed to have collectively decided that the best way to deal with the news about Jessie was to avoid talking about it. They had all gone back to their respective business— pretending everything was fine, presumably under the false impression that Woody and Buzz didn’t know what they were murmuring about, the rumors they were inventing and spreading, more harmful than they realized.

Woody doesn’t look at him when he approaches. He keeps his gaze fixed determinedly at his pieces, his cheek resting in one hand. Buzz sets the sewing kit down and nudges it open with the tip of his boot. “The doctor’s in,” he says. “Let’s get you stitched up.” Woody says nothing, just frowns. “Sheriff,” Buzz prompts. “Are you ready?” 

“Go away, Buzz. I can’t be around you right now.”

Buzz is so startled, he can say nothing for several moments. He looks at Slinky, he gives him a helpless sort of shrug. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Buzz says. “It was an accident. But you need to let me fix you. I’ll be careful, I swear.”

“Please, don’t argue with me.” Woody rubs his face with one hand, as if he has a headache, a gesture he’s been doing a lot the past few weeks. He still doesn’t meet Buzz’s gaze. “I’ll talk to you later. Okay? I promise. Just leave me alone right now. Please.” 

The “please” was spoken with desperation. Buzz could see Woody really wanted to be left alone. He felt his control over the situation diminishing. Uselessly, he asked, “what about your leg?” 

“I’ll do it myself.” It was a well known fact that you needed someone else to fix you. If you tried to do it yourself, you were more likely to mess up.

“Let me do it,” Buzz tried to insist. “I’ll leave you alone after. Just let me—” 

“No, Buzz,” Woody says, firmly, and then he says nothing more. 

With little choice, his heart filled with guilt and frustration and sadness, Buzz turns and walks away.


	3. Chapter 3

Scarcely a minute goes by before Slinky hurries up to Buzz. Buzz moves over so that there's more room to sit on the edge of the bed. "I thought you were playing checkers," he says.

"We were," Slinky answers. "But I wanted to talk to you. I left the sheriff with Dolly, she's stitchin' him up now."

"That's a relief."

"Remember I said I had somethin' to show you?"

Buzz remembers. Obligingly, he follows Slinky to where Woody keeps his notes and itineraries, secreted beneath the desk, near the wall outlet. Slinky drags them out with his mouth, and Buzz picks them up, frowning. "Should we be looking at these?" It felt like snooping.

"They go back a few weeks," Slinky says, and Buzz doesn't fail to notice the way he evaded his question, nor the way he anxiously shuffles his paws. "You'll take a look and, well, you'll see what I mean."

Buzz flips through them. They're illegible— scribbles and scratches, loops and whirls. The oldest ones bear some resemblance to English, but the most recent ones may as well have been written by a chicken with a pencil. Buzz stares at them, squints, as if they might become clear. He holds the papers further away, then brings them close to his face. "What is this? Is this a joke?"

"I think he can't write anymore."

"Can't write anymore?" Buzz will admit he isn't the brightest at times, but now he has to wonder if he's hearing correctly. "What are you talking about?"

"You found him in the hall closet earlier, right? Did he say what he was doing out there?"

"Hiding," Buzz replies. His eyes are still glued to the papers. He flips to the one from yesterday. The "words," such as they are, slant upwards at a defined angle, and for the life of him, he can’t figure out what they were intended to say. The last few lines are nothing more than loop-de-loops, like a hundred cursive letter e’s.

"Did he say what he was hiding from?"

"No. Slink, what is this?" Buzz finally looks Slinky in the eyes, at a loss. "Why are you showing me these?"

"I'm worried about him, Buzz. I ain't told nobody else about this yet. I figured you might know what to do, if anyone would." He hesitates. "I think... I think his mind ain't right."

Buzz can't think of a response. He feels an odd, harrowing sensation in his chest, like he's just gotten awful news about a loved one— which he suppose he has, twice now, within the span of ten minutes. He looks across the room to where Dolly is attempting to stitch Woody's leg. They appear to be arguing. She tries to stick him with the needle. He jerks away. Dolly looks exasperated, and gestures. Buzz can only imagine what she's saying.

"Slink," Buzz says slowly, then stops, then starts again. "What... exactly... do you mean by that? 'His mind isn't right?'"

Slinky doesn't answer. He's watching Dolly and Woody, too. A frown crosses his face, and he mutters, "oh, boy." Dolly is attempting to force Woody into submission, snatching his own hat off and raising it as if to hit him with it. 

Buzz jumps up and runs to them, the rattle of Slinky's coils close at his heels.

"Hey!"

Dolly throws the hat down, scowling. "You know, he's a real jerk sometimes," she tells Buzz, referring, obviously, to Woody. "Doesn't he know what's good for him? Look, he's got stuffing everywhere." She's right. Stuffing covers the ground like a light dusting of snow. She kicks some of it in her agitation. Buzz gets between her and the sheriff.

"Leave him alone."

"I'm just trying to help!"

"You've done enough. Just let me handle it."

She storms away. Buzz turns to Woody, frowning. "Why didn't you let her stitch you?"

Woody returns his gaze with hostility and haughtiness, cramming his hat back onto his head. "I don't need to be stitched. I'm fine."

"Your stuffing is all over the place." Buzz pointedly scoops up a handful of it, then starts to kneel by Woody’s side, reaching for him. "Here, hold still and I'll—"

Woody recoils. "I don't need to be fixed, Buzz. Get away. I mean it."

Buzz is flabbergasted. He shakes his head and tries again, more insistently this time. "There's a gaping tear in your knee. Now, hold—”

"No."

"Woody—"

"I said, no!"

Buzz stares at him in shock. A few moments pass as they face off with each other, and Buzz suddenly remembers he's still holding the papers. He shows them to Woody. "Are these yours?" he asks. "You wrote these?" 

Woody looks at them, and it's a while before recognition comes to his face. "Yeah, I wrote those for the round-up."

"Why are they written like that?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? They're illegible. Why are they like that?"

"I don't know. I guess I was tired." Woody is inching backwards, trying to get enough space to drag himself to his feet. More stuffing floats out of the tear. He has to hold onto the bedsheets to keep from falling as he struggles to stand up, and lean heavily on his uninjured leg. "I've been under a lot of stress, okay? You're not helping right now, actually. I thought I told you to leave me—"

Buzz doesn't wait for him to finish. He picks him up, slings him, kicking (with his one good leg) and punching, over his shoulder, and carries him to the desk. 

"Buzz! Put me down!"

Buzz ignores him, climbs onto the desk and drops him like the rag doll that he is in front of a fresh sheet of paper. He picks up a marker and pushes it into his hands. "Here," he orders, not caring if he sounds rude. "Write something."

"What? Why?"

"I want to see if you can."

"Buzz, of course I can write. What is this about? You're acting like a moron, _again_." He emphasizes the "again," but Buzz isn't fazed. 

"Write something," he says. "A sentence. Anything."

Woody hesitates. His willpower seems to be diminishing, as no doubt his injury is taxing him. "Why do I have to?" he complains, sounding like a child. Buzz says nothing, simply waits. Woody rolls his eyes, giving in, and puts pen to paper.

Slinky finally climbs onto the desk. Without arms and legs like Buzz, he had a harder time of it. He doesn't say anything, just joins Buzz's side, and together the two of them watch, mutually speechless, as Woody drags the pencil over the paper, making the exact same incoherent, nonsensical markings as the ones on his clipboard, with a look of concentration on his face that would convince anyone, so long as they didn't actually glance down at what he was writing, that he was wholly and terribly sane.

When he's done, he snaps, "there, happy?" and throws the pencil down and folds his arms. Buzz picks up the paper, stares at it. It's gibberish.

He looks at Woody. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," Woody shouts, so loudly and suddenly that Buzz almost jumps. "What is your problem? I mean, what do I have to do to get you to leave me alone? My sister is gone. Can I have a minute to process that, or is that too much to ask from my _best friend?"_

Buzz is, again, at a loss for words. He feels a tug at his elbow and looks down to see Slinky looking at him worriedly.

"I got somethin' else to show you, too, if you're willin'."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short update— work has been insane

By the time Bonnie's mother donates them to Goodwill a few months later, Woody's memory of the day Jessie disappeared is gone. In fact— and Buzz will be wondering how he failed to notice this for a long time to come— his memories have been disappearing for quite some time now, well before Bonnie packed her bags for university. There's a lot of time to kill waiting on the store shelf for someone to purchase them, and it’s not long before someone comes up with a little game called What Does Woody Remember. 

"Remember when the bath toys peer pressured Rex into flooding the house and mom had to call a plumber?"

Woody blinks a few times, clueless. "No."

"Remember when you took Barbie's corvette for a joyride and crashed it?"

“I did that?"

"Remember when you pushed Buzz out the window and almost got both of you killed?"

"Of course," Woody says, brightening (Buzz is somewhat amused). "How could I forget?"

Woody had refused to let anyone fix his leg, so Buzz had managed to convince him to let him scotch-tape it up to stop the leaking, and had given him a flowery pink ruler to use as a walking stick. They’d gone back to the checkerboard, Slinky and Buzz leading the way and Woody limping behind.

"I'm black," Slinky says, settling in on his side of the board. "You're red." 

Woody had at first refused to play, but relented when Buzz offered to let him tag along to visit Marian later. A few minutes into the game, Buzz understood why Slinky wanted him to see this. Along with writing, it seemed, Woody could no longer play checkers. He didn’t remember the rules. Any attempt to re-learn them was futile, every instruction slipping away from him like sand between his fingers. 

“No, that’s my piece,” Slinky said patiently. “I’m black. You’re red.” 

“Oh, I see.” Not ten seconds later, however, Woody made the same mistake again, reaching for the wrong colored piece and moving it in the wrong direction. After nearly two hours of this— Woody didn’t get the rules, but he didn’t get frustrated, either, or irritated at all; he actually seemed happy to have a distraction from everything else, and was probably just as content constantly messing up as anyone else would have been playing the game the way it was supposed to be played— Slinky and Buzz gave up.

“He’s just stressed out,” Buzz tried to rationalize, knowing he was wrong. 

“We have to tell the others,” Slinky said. “Something’s really wrong with him.” 

“No, we can’t. They don’t need to know— not yet.” 

“Then what should we do?” 

Buzz thought for a long while, but no epiphany came to him. “Just let me sleep on it,” he said finally, avoiding Slinky’s gaze. “I’ll think of something.”

Slinky studied him cautiously. “Okay, Buzz,” he said. “If you’re sure.”


	5. Chapter 5

Buzz always considered himself to be an decent person, which was why it was so difficult for him to make the decision to cheat on Jessie. He tried to rationalize it by telling himself that toys weren’t like humans, that they didn’t have sex and therefore their inherent values when it came to relationships and love were bound to be different— and can toys really love, anyway? Without a soul, are they capable of that? But that’s all mostly crap. There are two main reasons why Buzz cheated on Jessie. The first was because he fell in love with Marian, and the second was because Jessie cheated on him first.

The way it felt, when he saw them together— he’d never felt so low, so worthless, not since that day in Sid’s house, all those years ago, when he began to discover just who and what he was. Jessie grabbed Woody’s chin before he knew what she was doing, and Buzz watched, his heart stopping in his chest, as Woody’s eyebrows drew together and his body went stiff with surprise at the sensation of her lips on his face. He didn’t like it. Buzz could tell. Although whether it was because he thought of Jessie more as a friend or a sister, or because he had too much respect for Buzz to violate the sanctity of their friendship by engaging in intimate behavior with the love of Buzz’s life, Buzz had no way of knowing; he could only hope the latter was at least a part of it.

Woody pulled away and said something to her that Buzz didn’t catch, although he recognized the look on his face as one he used when the toys were being particularly difficult to manage: chastising, stern, but not unkind. Jessie said something back. Buzz could hear the dry wit in her tone. Woody’s cheeks turned red; that was no good. His defenses were down. Jessie saw this and kissed him again. 

This time, he closed his eyes. Buzz wished he could do the same. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t look away. He watched Woody’s chest rise and fall; he watched Jessie close the narrow distance between the two of them and place her hand over his heart.

The worst part? His mind wasn’t entirely on them— on his two best friends, sticking knives in his back like some twisted game they were playing with his heart, with his trust (completely unaware that he was watching them, hidden as he was). Only half of him was thinking about that— maybe less. 

The rest of him was already thinking about Marian. About what this meant for them— for himself and her. About what he was going to do with this new information.

 

*

 

They’re alone. No Jessie, no Marian, no Potato Head or Rex or Slinky or Dolly. Just the two of them on a strange road in the middle of the night, and it looks like it might rain, and Woody is tied to Buzz with a length of twine because he’s developed the troublesome habit of wandering off— while Buzz is sleeping, under fences and through playgrounds— to get chewed on by dogs and clawed by cats and kidnapped by all sorts of grimy, strange children, and, with his mind in its current miserable state, Buzz’s constant orders to stay put where he’s at flow in and out of his ears like water, never leaving an impression. 

“I saw you kiss her,” Buzz finally confessed. “I saw you kiss Jessie.” 

“Who’s Jessie?” 

“And you know what’s weird?” Buzz ignores Woody as if he hadn’t spoken, something he’s used to doing by now; it’s rare nowadays that Woody says anything making the least amount of sense. “I’m not mad at you— at either of you. Maybe it’s because I lost you both...” He glances at his friend, who’s currently staring at a ladybug in two cupped hands as if it’s a treasure made of pure gold. “Well, sort of.” He sighs and looks at the roiling sky. “I just wish I could have you back. I miss you.” 

“I miss you, too.” 

“Do you remember who I am?” Buzz asks, looking at Woody without much hope. The ladybug flies away. Woody watches it go, then smiles at him. 

“Of course I do,” he says, and Buzz can almost believe he’s back to his old self again; that is, until he finishes his thought. “You’re Andy.”


End file.
